


Modern-day Rewritten

by UnrealRomance



Series: Connected Dimensions [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Thedas, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cake, Demisexuality, F/M, Modern with Spirits is more Accurate, Romance, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnrealRomance/pseuds/UnrealRomance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nik is the owner of Haven, a bakery shop she started herself and has worked on from the ground up.</p><p>Solas is an artist of many mediums who has settled on culinary arts to pay the bills.</p><p>This could be considered an AU of Rewritten in which Nik is actually organic to the world of Modern Thedas-- as in, actually belonging there.</p><p>You don't have to read Rewritten to get this story, but I had an idea and had to go with it. Hope you guys like this. I may or may not have written about five chapters already-- might keep up with this, might not. Just more Solas/Human girl goodness for those of you jonesing for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Nope. No. Not happening, no." I'm trying to leave but Bull has a hold of the back of my jacket as I reach the door.

"Ah, come on Boss-"

"No!" I whirl around and point my finger at the-the _interloper_. "Look at him! Suit, dress shoes, smug-and-superior look on his face! Bullshit, I'm not hiring him!"

Though that smug expression is dropping as I speak. Good!

"Schemer..." Varric sighs from a corner of a booth.

"No, Varric!" I whirl on him and plant my hands on my hips. "You said 'down-to-earth artist' not 'spoiled, prissy noble'!"

And then I'm able to slip out of my jacket and out the front door before anyone else can catch me.

I don't get very far before Varric is calling me up on my cellphone. I get in my truck and pull out of the parking lot before I hit answer on my headset. It's just a little _Crystale_ device that fits perfectly in my ear.

"We are not talking about this, the answer is _no_." I say, as soon as I answer.

" _You didn't even give Chuckles a chance, Schemer!_ " Oh _god_ , he's already _nicknamed_ the guy!

"I didn't need to! Did you see the look on his face when I walked in?" That head-tilt, the piercing eyes, the curl to his mouth!

" _He was confident! He's a confident kind of guy, but he's not...that bad, really._ "

"You hesitated." I point out with emphasis. "You _know_ I don't allow upper-tier types in my business."

" _He's not upper-tier- well, he is- but he got there himself!_ " He scoffs and it sounds like he's pacing. " _He started out as a nobody and worked his way up in the world, I thought_ you'd _appreciate that! And of course he was dressed in a suit, it's a job interview!_ "

I pull into another parking lot, down the street. Parking and sighing heavily. "I'm never wrong about people, Varric. He thought he was superior to everyone in that room."

" _Yeah, that's kind of his thing_." He admits. " _But it's more to do with the fact that he's older and..._ "

"You're not saying 'wiser'." I think my eyebrow is twitching.

" _Look, if you hire him it'll be a personal favor to me. Okay?_ " He says.

I groan. "Can't I just give you free cakes for the rest of eternity?"

" _You always say, anything I need- look. Just give him a chance, come back, interview him. If you don't want him because he's not good, that's that. But if it's just his attitude, please- you gotta hire him._ "

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I grumble and rub my eyes with my fingers.

" _The guy is really out of touch, but he's great...when you get to know him. So just, help me get him back into the swing of things- being around people, you know?_ "

"You'll tell him to drop that superior attitude at the door?" I ask. "I'm serious, Varric. If he comes in acting like that, I'm sending him home until he adjusts his-his... _snootiness_."

" _I've got you, Schemer. I will definitely tell him exactly how to conduct himself inside the shop._ " He agrees, relief oozing from his tone.

"Tell him to go home and change out of that suit into something he doesn't mind getting covered in flour, he can come back and make a cake for me. That's it. No snooty attitude, no suits, just skill. Just _talent_." I demand.

" _You've got it, I'll tell him right now. You're gonna come back in, what- an hour?_ "

"Hour and a half." I sigh and rub my temples. "I've gotta go get a milkshake and decompress."

" _Right, right. We'll be here._ "

We hang up after a pair of lackluster good-bye's and I'm just hoping to god that Varric is right- because if that guy makes my shop a toxic work environment, I'll have to fire him. Which might put a strain on my relationship with Varric, who is like- one of my _best_ friends in the whole world. Not to mention he manages my business.

I slink down in my seat and curl into a little ball to feel sorry for myself for a minute and sit up to start driving when I feel sufficiently broody.

My milkshake is mint chocolate chip and I indulge in it slowly, checking my phone's clock every once in a while.

I've owned _Haven_ for about a year now. I've finally gotten into the swing of things. Hired a driver and two delivery 'boys'.

Rainier drives safely but aggressively and is an ex-con with a whole lot of remorse. I don't know what he did, I don't ask and I don't plan to ask. He's trying to do better now, and that's all that matters.

Sera is a trickster who knows all the secret paths around the city, knows how to get where they're going no matter the traffic jam or breakdown. She's resourceful and scrappy and grew up in an orphanage. I think if Rainier went on deliveries without her, he'd be lost pretty fast.

Cole is...an interesting boy. He sits in the back with the cakes and donuts and such and keeps everything from falling apart or breaking. I'm pretty sure he's a little bit psychic or something because he always knows exactly what to do and when to do it, even more than I do and that's saying something.

Dorian is my best friend. We went to art school together and he's only too happy to be working in a 'quaint' little bakery where his family will never find him. I mean, he's had privilege all his life, but money doesn't buy freedom, as much as it seems to. He's got the same amount of baggage as everyone else and adores everyone who doesn't take one look at him and sneer 'Tevinter'.

I sigh and check the time. Not yet.

Varric has a whole sad story he's never told anyone, but you can see it in his eyes. He does everything he can for the people around him, sometimes to the point of absurdity- but you know, in a lovable way.

And Bull defected from the military in Par Vollen when he got some orders to do something...really awful. He wouldn't do it. He lives in a neighborhood with a lot of disadvantaged kids that he's pretty effectively turning into a bunch of hard working bouncer and bodyguard types. He loves kids.

I'm basically the only actual...baker, in the shop. Dorian does the design work with piping and lacework and things like that, but i make the cakes, cut them, put the fondant and icing on them- I draw the designs too. I bake the pastries, the tarts- make the candies...

After the third time Varric and Dorian found me asleep at my workstation, they demanded I hire someone else to help me. I might be really picky and exclusive in my clientele, but that doesn't mean I don't get a lot of business.

Varric said he knew just the guy- said he was a 'down to earth' artist with a good work ethic and a unique sense of style.

I groan when I remember his suit. No tie, but sleek and black with a soft blue silk shirt underneath the jacket. It was pretty mainstream as far as suits go. Maybe not as fine as it could've been, since the guy is supposed to be rich, I guess- but still, not what I'd call 'unique'.

Time to head back. God, I hope I don't have to break Varric's heart or something.


	2. Chapter 2

I have not been shocked many times in my life. I am usually sufficiently prepared for anything that could possibly unbalance me. But I had not expected that particular reaction.

"I told you, she's different." Varric is sitting in the corner of the spacious kitchen as I work.

I am to...audition.

I have never been asked to audition for a job before. I brought pictures or drew a design or simply endeared myself to the employer and that was always enough. "She took one look at me and said _no_." And then asked me to dress in my work clothing to _audition_.

"She hates pompous assholes, don't we all?" He laughs at my expression. "Look, she started this place with the last few dollars to her name, with some money she was saving up to go to culinary school with." Varric explains with a flair as he speaks, as he usually does when telling a story. "She went when she made enough money back to afford to go- she bought the building and worked out of it without opening it up as a shop for like...what, six months?" He thinks for a moment. "Seven, maybe. She went to school, worked part time to save money for the next year, and met Dorian."

"The rather pompous Tevinter with the fine clothes and jewelry." I deadpan.

"Well yeah." He laughs. "But see, Sparkler was having family troubles. They didn't get along all that well at first, but she dug a little deeper and she saw that he could use a break. She'll see the same with you, it's just...she usually goes with her gut. You're artistic, you know how it is."

I sigh heavily. "I cannot even complain that she is prejudiced." It would be less perplexing if she _was_.

"Nope." Varric shakes his head, grinning. "Elves, Qunari, Dwarves...she's got all kinds working here. I figured you'd like that."

"I would, if I were not...what exactly about my expression put her off?" I put the round cake base on a turn table and give him a look as I cut off the rounded top.

"I think it was the whole ensemble." He responds. "The rich clothes- I told you to dress casual!"

"It was business casual!" I insist. "You did not tell me she was..."

"Running her business like a family? I did." He crosses his arms. "It's part of the reason I thought you'd like working here."

"I am only here as a favor to you, Varric. If I find myself stifled or-"

"Yeah yeah, I know. You'll bolt." He snorts and shrugs. "She'll probably send you home a few times when you get that superior attitude you tend to-"

"I do not act superior!" I stop in my efforts to cover the cake in black fondant and turn to point at him. "You know I am the _last_ -"

"I know." He attempts to soothe me with a low voice. "But you come off that way, and you know it."

I scoff and turn to tighten the covering around the cake, using a tool to smooth it before cutting around the base. "If she is so perceptive, she should be able to look beyond how I _seem_."

"She's not a mind-reader. If you show her some of that genius and genuine feeling you have in you, she'd never let you go. You just have to help her there." Varric laughs. "Are you doing a mural?"

"It seems the way to go if I am to show her my best." I mutter and pick up a piping bag, shoveling bright red buttercream icing into it. "I would like you to be silent until I am finished."

He rolls his eyes at me, I can see him in my periphery. "Fine. But when she gets here, she's going to be all 'pencils down' and if you're not done..."

"I will be done." I say, glancing at the clock. Forty-five minutes is more than enough time for what I have in mind.

I fall into the rhythm of my work. I pipe red icing over the entirety of the cake, leaving gaping holes here and there that I fill with purple and blue. I layer the icing, red with blue then purple. Purple with blue then red.

I take a knife and begin peeling away layers, mixing others and use a pastry brush to add texture. It is a longer process than I had initially planned to go with, but it is already almost finished.

I glance at the clock and sigh. Ten minutes. Just enough time to add something else I have in the freezer.

I walk over and pull the small tray out, smiling at the perfect shapes rendered in white chocolate.

I peel each of them off the wax paper by the toothpicks stuck in the end of them and dip them in bowls of color.

Soon I am looking at a fully realized 3D design and Varric is tapping the countertop. "Time's up, and I think I just heard her walk in."

"I am finished. She can judge my work as she likes." I check over the cake and smirk to myself. I have never been hired completely upon the merit of my work before. It has always been a matter of status, references or...well. I have had to prove myself _after_ being hired, but it was always a matter of meeting their own standards after I have seen what those standards _are_.

I have piped lace latticework on cakes in white with gold dust covering it from top to bottom, or gold leaf applied liberally to spots where it would contrast with whatever design or colors they seemed to favor.

I have done cakes with bits and pieces cut out carefully with a hot knife and filled with chocolate.

I have even done cakes that were reproductions of fine sculptures.

This is my own, personal preference. If she does not think it fits to her particular tastes, it is not a loss. There are many other places I could work. At two or three times the pay at that- though the fact that her Elven, Dwarven and Qunari employees make the same amount as the human in her employ...was a deciding factor when Varric began asking me to come in for an interview.

It is not so much the money or the opulence or even the reputation of the place that concerns me. I have moved from kitchen to kitchen for years, unable to find a place with the correct... _aura_ , I suppose. The feeling, the atmosphere.

When I first walked into this place, I was suitably impressed with the atmosphere. Welcoming, warm. A Tevinter at the counter, a Qunari next to the door, talking to each other with something like camaraderie. It was a pleasant surprise.

The elven delivery girl and the boy with her who is obviously...something more than human was also pleasant to see.

And Varric recommended the place, so I had high hopes for it.

And then she walked in, took one look at me and perceived something I hadn't meant to present to anyone.

I stand, tucking my arms behind my back and clasping my hands when she walks in. Assuming a countenance of calm, warm neutrality.

If she does not want me to work for her, it will not be _my_ loss...but I do not wish to be passed over for a 'bad attitude' of all things.


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, he doesn't seem _so_ bad." Dorian stops me before I go into the back room. "A bit haughty, but then- so am I."

"You can't possibly like him already." I say, eyeing him. "What is Varric paying you?"

He laughs. "I'm hurt. But really, he seems the quiet, in the corner type." He slouches back over the counter and shrugs. "His choice in work wear could use some...tweaking. But then so could yours."

I roll my eyes and walk through the swinging door into the kitchen area.

Varric is standing next to the interloper, by a turntable.

I have to stop when I see the cake on it, and walk slowly over to them as my head tilts and my eyes narrow.

Varric chuckles but stays silent as I get lower and look at the designs with a critical eye.

It's a dream-scape of sorts. Something abstract and beautiful with amorphous shapes weaving in and out of solid ones, as if to suggest the malleability of it all.

He's even made the butter cream moist but firm in a way that will prevent cracking or melting.

I huff to myself and stand up, crossing my arms and scowling at Varric. "You didn't tell me he does abstract."

"This is why you should _trust_ me." He says, smug expression on his face. "So, should I ask him when he can start?"

I roll my eyes and brush past both of them, heading for the back office. "I'll print the paperwork."

I don't want to admit that I'm impressed.

Though when I go back out with his paperwork and hand it all over to him, I glance down at his clothes and sigh. "Sorry."

He's dressed in a soft cotton, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of green pants that seem to be make of canvas- comfy and down-to-earth, like Varric said he was. I was wrong.

"Beg your pardon?" He looks surprised as he takes the paperwork, blinking a little at me.

"I guess Varric can be vague when he wants to be and you probably had no idea I'd be..." Just like every other Orlesian bakery owner around? "...as casual as I am."

"I...it is fine." He smiles, though it's barely enough of a curve to be called as much. "I am aware that my countenance can seem...icy, at first."

I feel even worse now. "Yeah well..."

"See, I knew you two would get along!" Varric laughs.

We both jolt a little, as if we forgot he was there. I know _I_ did. We glance at each other and I laugh.

"Just...get that back to me before the end of the week, please." I gesture at the paperwork. "We'll probably interview some other people in case you don't want the job, but it's yours if you...want it."

For the chance to make something truly strange and beautiful like the cake on my turntable? I'll let him take any hours he wants, even if it's just one hour a week!

He clears his throat and holds out his hand. "I suppose I should introduce myself first. I am Solas."

"Nik." I reach out and take his hand, feeling a frisson go from my palm to my spine and blinking in surprise.

"I will look over the paperwork and get back to you." He releases my hand as if it's on fire. Static electricity, maybe?

"Take as much time as you need between now and Friday." I shrug and turn around to head back to my office.

Varric follows me. Waiting until we're actually in my office to ask me, excitedly. "What did I tell you?"

"I don't know..." I glance back out the doorway and jolt a bit when I realize what that feeling was that went through me when we touched. "Oh. No."

"What?" He tilts his head at me, leaning in the doorway as I collapse in my office chair. "You just basically gave him the job a couple seconds ago, what's wrong?"

I see Solas leave through the swinging door and cover my face with my hands.

"I think I..." Crap. "I don't know. I'll just see what hours he chooses."

"I know I'm missing something..." He says, trailing off. "But I also know you'll tell me or Sparkler sooner or later, so I'll let it go for now."

I snort. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, Schemer." He bows and leaves the office after I pick my head up and smile at him.

My smile drops as soon as he's turned his back. I turn my chair around, away from the door and my computer and press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets.

That hasn't happened in a very long time, and never the first time I've met someone. That isn't how I _work_ , or well...

It isn't how I _thought_ I worked...

I mean, I get that it's all fluid and up for interpretation, but once you figure yourself out- I'm in my twenties, I'm not supposed to be still...

I'm not supposed to feel attraction for someone I've just met. That isn't how I work.

I get to know someone, I find traits in them that I find desirable or admirable and _then_ I might find them attractive or come to think of them in sexual or romantic terms.

A lot of the time I fall in love with a person over a couple months and only desire a physical relationship after _that_. And by 'a lot of the time' I mean with my last three boyfriends. Which have been my _only_ three boyfriends.

In my life.

I'm confused.


	4. Chapter 4

Well.

That was...

I don't know what that was. To be quite honest, when I saw her expression as she walked in the door and how she was eyeing my cake, I was certain I was about to be told to leave.

Varric obviously knows her very well if he could see the approval in that...glare. That narrow-eyed stare she gave my cake as though it were vexing her simply by existing. Though it could have been that she was vexed by the very fact that _I_ had been the one to make it, I suppose.

She seemed reluctant to admit to being too hasty to judge me at all. The surprise of her apology and her inability to meet my eyes was enough to send me off-balance.

I was doubly surprised by the warmth that suffused me at the thought that she was apologizing because she was ashamed to have judged me wrongly.

That is exactly what I have always been looking for, that attitude. Knowing that someone will admit they are wrong, who seems to be so warm when not faced with the possibility that I do not look down on her...

It is because of that feeling that I am painting. Broad strokes of blue and green with an amber flush of light in the middle. A stained-glass image of silken folds wrapped around a golden rose. I do not quite know what it means, but inspiration cannot always be pinned down and defined.

I wonder if it represents myself, her- or both of us interacting. Or something else altogether. Figuring it out is half the process of my particular artistic style.

I line the pieces of stained-glass that I've painted in black and silver, as though it has an ebony framework of painted iron that has been sanded down here and there and polished to a high sheen.

I pull back from the easel when it feels finished and crack my back as I walk away from it. I will make myself something to eat, come back after I'm through with dinner and look at it with fresh eyes. Perhaps even turning it on its side or upside down before going at the finer details with a smaller brush or paint pen.

I make a face at the teapot in my kitchen before moving on to the refrigerator. It is always sitting there and I always glare at it before going about my business. I despise that I must _ever_ drink tea, but as it is- coffee is too much and sometimes it is difficult to throw off sleep without it.

I pour myself a cup of mango juice, grab a small slice of one of the test cakes in my refrigerator and sit at my dining table.

I have been experimenting with different ingredients and processes in my fruit-flavored concoctions and this dry white cake pairs well with mango juice, I've found. It is more of a restaurant cake- or for the catering of a high-class party, I suppose. Selling a cake with a drink in a bakery is highly unorthodox.

It is one of my guilty pleasures to create such beautiful, tasty things and keep the recipes and designs to myself. All of it kept backed up on a few thumb drives and printed out and bound in journals.

My plan was always to find someone to pass them on to, or have them released to the public in the event of my death. Either way, they would not simply be thrown out or hoarded by a few chefs in hopes to capitalize on my hard work.

I sigh as I finish the cake, taking one last sip of the mango juice before getting up to take the dishes to the sink, wash them, dry them and put them away.

Varric insists I take this job now that I have been approved. Has warned me that Nik is 'shy and leery' of new people and that it will take a while for her to get used to me. As though she or I are particularly hard to get along with, possibly both of us. Varric is a personable man, I have no doubt that any kind of introvert would seem odd and difficult to him.

Walking back into my studio and turning over the painting, I begin adding the shadows and highlights with smaller paintbrushes and paint pens. The rose has a red flush at the outermost ring of its petals and the innermost center is a darker gold than the rest. The blue and green silk in sloping shapes that surround it are highlighted with shimmers of amber.

I do not know what this is, or what it represents, but I am certain I would not have made it if I had not met Nik and her eclectic employees.

Which is what makes the decision for me, truly. I go where the inspiration is.

I look at the paperwork on my worktable and sigh heavily at the fact that I will be filling it out for most of the rest of the day to make the deadline she gave me. Friday.

Tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!

The first day he works is the Monday after he gets the paperwork to me.

He chose to do part time labor during the week and take full time shifts on the weekend which means my weekends are mostly free- and I will actually have free time during the week!

Though it also means we work _together_ for several hours a day, four days a week. Which I was hoping to avoid, as stupid as it sounds.

And this just. Keeps. Happening.

Every time I see him, my eyes dart away from his. Every time his hand so much as brushes against mine, a shock goes through me and I jerk away from him as surreptitiously as possible. And every time he speaks to me, I find myself warring between the urge to listen to the actual words and marveling over the voice itself and the cadence with which he speaks.

This is ridiculous. I haven't had this severe a reaction to a man...ever!

The last time I found myself in a relationship it took me three months to realize I was even attracted to the guy, for god's sake!

I can't even put my finger on precisely _what_ I find so intriguing about him, either. He's so quiet, unassuming and out of the way, we barely speak. And when we do, it's about work.

"I believe you have sufficiently smoothed the icing." A hand stops me from re-smoothing the same section of cake over again. It's so smooth it looks like fondant. Solas sighs. "Something is bothering you."

I pull my hand away and scrape the extra icing into the container. "No, I'm fine. I'm just...thinking."

"It seems easy for you to lose yourself in thought when you work, then." He says, tilting his head at my white cake. "What is this for, again?"

"It's supposed to be piped in silver and gold filigree for a ball." I remind him. "You're doing the piping with Dorian, right?"

"Yes, as well as brushing on the edible glitters." He wrinkles his nose. "Which will take hours."

"I could help." I usually do, though Dorian has been practically hissing and spitting at me when I offer lately. Something about me overworking myself. Pfft.

"I doubt it would be wise. We would all be on top of each other." He hums. "I will simply have to resign myself to hours of careful application of edible glitter to tiny lines of piping."

I laugh. "You want to just dump the glitter on there?"

"It would be more interesting." Solas never seems to smile all that much, and when he does it's usually only halfway visible or more of a smirk. "We could pipe in negative space rather than the designs themselves and splash it with-"

"Oh god no." I flop my head on my work table, away from the cake on the turntable. "I can already tell that means a fuck-ton more work, just with the brushwork on the damn piping."

"Perhaps I will do it on my own, then." He hums. "At home."

"Do you normally create more work for yourself when you get home?" I ask with a raised brow, lifting my head but still not looking directly _at_ him.

"As if you don't?" Dorian stalks past us to grab a new tray of glazed donuts for the storefront. "You made an entire _legion_ of snack cakes after that birthday request with the monochromatic theme."

"It was for a thirteen year old girl!" I exclaim as he walks back toward the door. "Whom said several times that she preferred a cowgirl theme. Her mother was a-"

I cut myself off as I spot Solas eyeing me with something like amusement.

"What?" I ask.

Dorian is already gone, probably tutting over the donuts and their plainness while swiping one to chew on while he works. Hypocrite.

"You made an entire host of snack cakes for a birthday party that you were not being paid to make? Why?" His eyes are a lot less cold when they crinkle and curve up at the edges like that.

"I didn't just make them." I snort. "I took them to the park with Sera and Cole and passed them around as free samples. That kid's mom was _pissed_." I laugh. "I lost her repeat business, but that kid raved about me to all her friends at the party and they saw my work, tasted it first hand. I had _so_ many commissions for birthday cakes for the next four months..."

"Why do something so..." He searches for the word and laughs when he finds it. "Risky. Reckless. Something that wasn't guaranteed to pay off?"

"That's not what art is." I shrug. "First and foremost, I do this to make people happy. To make them feel things. To make them think. Even if it's only for a moment, and even if it makes them angry."

He tilts his head and glances at the cake on the turntable before me. "I suppose I can understand that."

"I don't like parents who don't pay attention to their kids, either." I add. "That bitch deserved to look stupid in front of her high-class, high-society friends."

He chuckles, all of a sudden. Breathy, sharply cut off with an inhale at the tail end of it. I wouldn't quite call it a snort, but... "You do seem to dislike the rich."

"Not just the rich, the...the assholes who have privileges that no one else does. Rich people, connected people- criminals." I huff. "Humans, on a large scale."

" _You_ are human." He points out with a complicated expression. It seems like he _wants_ to be amused but just can't.

"Well yeah, but I'm _aware_." I toss my hands up. "I mean, look at your work, and look at mine. You're obviously more talented than I am." I gesture at the cake in front of me. "If we each made something, most humans would pick mine just because I'm also human. Not _just_ to be dicks, but because they go with what's familiar and- that means other races don't have as much representation."

"True enough, I suppose. But the same could be said of the other races choosing mine, couldn't it?" He begins piping the cake as I drag a tray over from next to me to start filling candy molds.

"No, it's not-" I know he's trying to provoke me to get to my actual opinions, it's that same bullshit Bull does! "Look, if the majority of a population is a certain race, or a certain religion- they have the control because our society caters to the majority." I drizzle sugary gel into the tray as I go on. "And even if there's a majority of Elves and Dwarves over Humans, the Humans are..." I look for a word.

He tilts his head and glances at me, still piping but pausing to wait for me to finish my thought.

I flush and focus on my candy mold tray. "We're threatening. And some of us are _really_ rich..." I mutter.

"Yes, I'm sure a good number of both could be bribed or threatened into agreeing with the Human agenda." He agrees. "But there are many who do not."

"Not enough." I sigh. "We've been in control for so long, it's like...like people just throw their hands up and say 'that's how it's always been' like they think it'll never change and why even try?"

"I had no idea you were an equal rights activist." He reaches over and plucks the bracelet on my wrist. "I was wondering where I'd seen this before."

I laugh and shift away from him as slowly and carefully as possible- not wanting to jump or jerk away. "Only people who are part of it are supposed to know what it means...you're in the Inquisition?"

"I am friends with someone involved. They...have been trying to recruit me." He says with a wry smirk.

"Oh god, I know so many people like that." I laugh. "Varric pulls in the most members of all races, and Dorian exclusively draws in human men of wealth and influence and I don't even want to think about _how-_ " I cut myself off with a laugh. "Sera has the whole, disadvantaged or 'little people' angle and...I'm not really sure how Cole does it, but sometimes we end up with confused people walking in and asking to join up at our meetings."

"Well, perhaps I'll ask a bit more about it. Cassandra does seem passionate about it." He says.

"Your friend?" I ask. "Cassandra...I don't know anyone with that name. Is she from around here?"

"She's nearby, yes. As I understand it, you go by code names while in meetings." He says.

"Well yeah. But a lot of the time that's only when someone new joins. If we have no one new for a couple months at one of the meetings, we all introduce ourselves to each other."

"Hm." He grabs a tub of edible glitter and begins brushing it on the still-sticky piping.

The atmosphere is a lot lighter, warmer- I don't feel so awkward.

So I grab my other candy gels and get to work with a smile on my face. _'Maybe this won't be so weird after all.'_


End file.
